☼ seventeen ☼🔥

                                    

                                          
Not even an hour later, Axel was at my door.
I didn't remember ever giving him my apartment number, the floor, any of the details—but he must have had all the information from Brett. He'd only dropped me off when we'd landed in L.A. from St. Tropez, and I'd never brought him upstairs.
And my apartment...was a mess. I'd spent the past hour pacing, ripping my hair out—there were actual dark burgundy hairs strewn all over the couch—freaking out over Estelle's confession. Over Estelle's behavior. Over what Estelle had done.
So as I peered through the peephole to find Axel standing in my hallway, hands in his pockets, a disheveled air to him, yet dapper and delicious as ever, I froze. I panicked.
No way could I let him in. One, there was clutter all over the place; two, we'd be alone. And us being alone went against everything I'd more or less promised Estelle an hour ago.
"Axel?" I said through the door, raising my voice and hating how it shook. "What are you doing here?"
He was supposed to be swamped at work. How could he have raced across town to see me? Why?
"Damage control," he said, leaning nearer, eyebrows scrunching. "Your text was urgent, no?"
Fuck. I grimaced as I reached for the doorknob, fifteen screams in my head telling me to send him away. To tell him it was fine, I was fine, everything was fine.
But nothing was fine, and we both knew that. Damage control was needed, and he'd come all this way to help me. Denying him now...
I pulled the door open, but I apparently hadn't locked it after Estelle left.
"Hey," I said, hardly leaving enough space between the frame and the door to show my face. "Now isn't a good time."
"Is she still in there?" His timbre grew deeper, laced with anger. A whiff of his cologne hit me, and it took all my energy to not grab him and yank him closer to bury my nose in his jacket.
"No," I sighed, "she left right before I texted you. But it's..."
"You got someone else in there?" He arched an eyebrow, and I could have sworn I detected a hint of curious jealousy in his voice.
"No, of course not."
I pushed the door a little farther open. Sometime during my panic attack, I changed into my outfit for the meeting with the hotel manager—a ruffled blouse and a black pencil skirt. For some reason, I'd gotten the need to dress up to meet this guy. Axel had told me he was a judgmental jerk sometimes, and I'd need to be over-the-top presentable to impress him.
I wasn't sure why I needed to impress the hotel manager, when Axel, the owner, was the one making all the decisions. But I'd been too distraught by Axel's texts and instructions that I hadn't asked about it.
He eyed my legs, my bare feet, then his gaze zipped up to mine. "Okay, so your last excuse will be that your place is messy, I presume?"
I scowled at him. "It is messy." I gripped the door, bracing for him to shove into it to allow himself in. "And tiny. So tiny. It's an embarrassment."
It was his turn to scowl as he folded his arms. He wore a suit of light gray, all buttoned up and professional. His slacks were tight, wrapping around his godly silhouette and reminding me how much I enjoyed what was underneath. "You think I care about that?"
"Axel—"
"—I won't force myself in, but we need to talk about this. So it's either out here," he gestured at the vacant corridor, "or safe and sound inside your apartment."